


Naughty Drabbles: TNG

by yeaka



Series: Naughty Drabbles [2]
Category: Star Trek, Star Trek: The Next Generation
Genre: Anal Sex, Dom/sub, Dominance, Drabble Collection, Established Relationship, Exhibitionism, F/M, M/M, Mirror Universe, Oral Sex, PWP, Puppy Play, Submission, Voyeurism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-29
Updated: 2014-07-09
Packaged: 2018-01-21 06:01:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 6,371
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1540289
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yeaka/pseuds/yeaka
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A number of short, unrelated, shameless and/or ridiculous pornographic drabbles updated whenever. (Most pairings and tags only apply to one or more drabbles; chapters are labelled for their individual warnings.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Geordi/Data (oral)

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: Wes would've been 18-19 in S4 before leaving, so I'm setting these there, although most are AU anyway... please heed chapter warnings as you go.
> 
> Disclaimer: I don’t own Star Trek or any of its contents, and I’m not making any money off this.

Geordi’s head hits the back of the wall while a groan rips out of his mouth, lost to the sounds of suction going on beneath him. Data’s hands tighten almost imperceptibly around his thighs, the corners of Data’s lips twitching slightly up in a smile; Geordi can _feel_ it. Every time Geordi shows any sign of approval, Data _glows_.

Data sucks inhumanly hard and swallows Geordi to the root, jaw unhinged to take the full girth of Geordi’s cock, and it’s all Geordi can do to keep his knees from buckling. When he offered to help Data “learn about” and “explore” human sexuality, he had no idea it would be quite so... _fulfilling._ It turns out that, at least in the area of blowjobs, Data’s current programming is more than adequate. He bobs up and down on Geordi’s length like a professional, almost too steady and too measured. The fact that Data probably isn’t getting off on this doesn’t even faze Geordi; he’s far past accepting his friend’s differences.

He takes Data the way Data is, quirks and all, and he almost chuckles when Data shifts positions. There’s no way Data’s knees are actually sore; his programming probably just told him that after this long sucking cock, anyone else would’ve grown tired and shifted. Geordi can’t help but drop a hand to stroke back through Data’s soft hair, petting him fondly. He’s trying, and in the meantime, he’s so, _so_ good.

When he pops off of Geordi’s cock, Geordi could almost cry. Instead, he just grits his teeth, looking down at his long time friend. He can see Data’s smile through a dazzling array of spectral analysis; Data’s body is the only one on this entire ship that he can really see _clearly_. Data nuzzles affectionately into Geordi’s crotch, no doubt like some manual tells him, and then he sticks out his tongue and runs it along the inside of Geordi’s thigh. Shivering and suddenly aware anew of both their nakedness, Geordi mumbles a faint, “Data...”

But Data’s grown better at judging Geordi’s tones, and he doesn’t stop. Instead, he takes it as the confirmation it is and begins to lick harder, faster. His tongue darts out over and over, swiping up and down the sac of Geordi’s balls. Head lolling back against the wall again, Geordi moans and has to stop himself from bucking into Data’s eager mouth. Whatever files Data’s tapped into, they’re good ones. 

For quite a while, Data simply laps at Geordi’s crotch, showering the base of his cock and the bulk of his balls in quick, firm licks. Each one is precisely the same length and coverage as the last, and Geordi can’t help but smile at that; that’s his Data. He’s now got both of his hands brushing through Data’s hair, and he lets Data rain pleasure down on him, until it gets almost unbearable. 

When Data’s still licking a good five minutes later, Geordi can’t help but grunt, “Data... what’re you doing?”

Data’s head snaps back instantly, too sharply for the setting this is, and he explains, “I am licking you, Geordi.” He hovers just out of reach, Geordi’s cocking brushing his cheek on each breath. 

Despite the sexy image, Geordi chuckles out of sheer habit. “I gathered that, Data. But why are you _still_ licking me?”

With a slight tilt of his head, Data explains as though commenting on the proverbial weather, “I have determined that Spot maintains his oral patterns for an average of seven point two-three minutes.”

Geordi’s eyebrows knit together above his VISOR. He stares down at Data, who looks innocently back up at him, and when it becomes obvious that Data doesn’t see a problem with that, Geordi asks slowly, “And why are you applying anything about Spot to me?”

It’s Data’s turn to look confused. “Have I erred?” When Geordi doesn’t immediately answer—what is there to say?—Data says, “Upon reviewing the source material known as ‘homosexual erotica,’ I have discovered that pleasure seems to be derived from ‘kittenish licks’ to the genital area, as described in several texts. While Spot is not a kitten, I assumed the difference would not be so great as to negate the usefulness of cross-referencing my research.”

Geordi shuts his mouth just in time to muffle a snort. It’s ridiculous. But it’s so utterly _Data_ that he can’t help grinning very, very wide. 

At first, he thinks of clarifying all that. But the more he stares down at Data, the more he becomes hyper-aware of the head of his cock nudged against Data’s cheek. 

So he naturally files it away for later discussion, and instead grabs the back of Data’s head, guiding him back to Geordi’s still-very-hard crotch. “Let’s just get back to the lesson, Data.” And Data, of course, seems all too happy to oblige.


	2. Riker/Wesley, Picard (MU, D/S, pet play)

The drink from Ten Forward still buzzing in his stomach, Jean-Luc orders the turbolift up to the bridge. He steadies himself against the wall with one hand and summons his usual mask of indifference; his best tool in the Empire is his air of unwavering sternness. The turbolift beeps its destination a second later, and the doors swing open. 

Jean-Luc strolls across the plush carpet, and there is absolutely no indication of the fact that he’s just skipped out on an hour of work to drink with Guinan—a standard captain’s prerogative. As he turns the corner of the railing that separates the upper deck from the lower one, he spots an unwanted sight and frowns. 

“I believe I’ve made my position on children on the bridge very clear, Number One.” Jean-Luc slips into his seat all the same, eyes on the floor. Wesley Crusher is sprawled out besides his feet, sitting at Riker’s, while Riker shrugs semi-apologetic features. No one’s ever _sorry_ in the Empire—not high ranking officers, anyway. Wesley, done up in a few strange trimmings but otherwise as naked as any other yeoman, simply turns his young face away. He buries it in Riker’s knees, as though looking at Jean-Luc’s steely gaze will cut into him. With the way Jean-Luc is glaring, it just might.

“I don’t see any children, Captain,” Riker smoothly returns. He drops a hand off his armrest to stroke through Wesley’s sleek, brown hair, brushing it back as Jean-Luc scowls.

“Whatever the fleet’s policy might be, _I_ consider nineteen year olds to be children, junior officers or otherwise.” He doesn’t need to indicate that in a few years, Jean-Luc will mind having Wesley there less; officers bring their underlings to work all the time. But under-grown ones are a pain, and Riker in particular has a precocious one. As if on cue with Jean-Luc’s thoughts, Wesley peeks back over his shoulder, but a sharp frown has him turned around again. Shifting down to all fours, Wesley pads over to Riker’s other side and rests his cheek on Riker’s thigh, while Riker continues to absently pet him. The dark leather strap hanging from Wesley’s dog collar trails down his chest, something like a leash, and the new angle allows Jean-Luc a better view of his exposed body, bare from the neck down. 

There’s a set of big, floppy, fake dog ears attached to a headband in Wesley’s hair. That lends itself to Riker’s explanation of, “He’s not a yeoman, Captain; he’s a dog.” With a lecherous grin, Riker turns to Wesley and adds, “Aren’t you, boy?” Wesley nods vigorously, smiling up at his master with a too-mischievous look. Precisely the problem with him. “Show the captain your tail, Wes.” Saluting his master with one hand curled like a paw, Wesley promptly turns and bends down, raising his rear up into the air. A fluffy back dog tail hangs down between his thighs, attached to a thick plug stuffed inside his hole, and he shakes his ass once to make it wag. Rolling his eyes, Jean-Luc looks away as Riker laughs approvingly.

If Jean-Luc wanted, he could order them both to the brig. But as Riker well knows, there’s a certain fondness between the captain and his first officer, and Jean-Luc has no desire to press an issue of no real consequence. His only problem, he explains, is: “Dogs can still bark.”

“I thought you might say that.” Riker reaches beside himself, fiddling with a bag next to him in his chair, and then he produces a small bundle of fabric similar to Wesley’s leash. As soon as Riker starts fitting it on Wesley’s head, the purpose becomes obvious: it’s a muzzle. Wesley makes a whimpering noise as he’s effectively gagged, the leather material tightly covering his chin and mouth and even nose, strapped behind the back of his head. But the next whine is muffled, so Jean-Luc has to concede that it works. 

He gives Riker an approving look and decides, “Well played, Number One.”

Smirking up a storm, Riker nods and concedes, “Thank you, Captain.”

He turns to the viewscreen a few seconds after Jean-Luc, having stopped again to pet his ‘dog.’


	3. Geordi/Taurik, Data (MU, voy)

A few minutes in, Data either gives up the pretense of working or forgets his PADD altogether, if that’s even possible. 

The only thing it changes is the subtle smirk on Geordi’s lips; he knew his favourite android wouldn’t give up a chance to ‘study’ ‘human’ intimacy. The man in Geordi’s lap is a Vulcan, and he doesn’t react quite the same as the more red-blooded ensigns do when they’re invited back to their boss’ quarters, but that doesn’t make his ass any less enjoyable around Geordi’s hard cock.

In fact, Taurik is almost Data-like. Even at the harshest thrusts, he doesn’t gasp, doesn’t moan—he makes noises, little ones, but they’re small, natural things that come from the simple movement of being tossed about. His legs are in the bed, knees to either side of Geordi’s hips, and his strong thighs are steady, rhythmic, even on every thrust. The sounds of slapping skin on skin are brusque and controlled in the stuffy air of Geordi’s quarters. Taurik lets Geordi set the pace, do the brunt of it, but he aids where necessary, rocking himself and grinding down each time he’s slammed into. His hands are stiff on Geordi’s shoulders, not quite clinging to the fabric, not quite loose. He’s naked from head to foot, his uniform neatly pealed away and folded at the foot of the bed, and he rides Geordi’s exposed cock with an admirable sense of efficiency. He isn’t experienced, but he doesn’t presume to try anything more than ordered anyway.

The only difference is that Data’s innocent face would wear a look of curiosity or contentment: not the smooth, trained mask that guards Taurik’s _feelings_.

Vulcans like to think they don’t have any. As Geordi bounces the young ensign up and down on his lap, he hopes Data sees otherwise—all the little details that betray Taurik’s desire. His eyes are likely half-lidded, cheeks stained green. His hair won’t be as perfect as it usually is. His back is arched subtly forward, like he wants to _give himself_ to Geordi but knows better.

He says nothing unless spoken to, and Geordi, reveling in that _power_ , turns his head to look at Data. The android’s sitting in a chair by the bed, work in his lap. Geordi rests his skull back against the wall; _he’s_ very much enjoying the pleasure. He doesn’t care if they see his emotions. He can see Taurik’s increasing heat in his VISOR, and he knows the feeling. Taurik’s tight and hot around him, slick and wet as only a Vulcan can be, and Geordi groans to his friend, “This is why the Empire gives the best ships the pretty ones.”

Resuming an argument from earlier, Data quirks his head and insists, “I still believe the best method of choice would be based on an ensign’s skill.” Geordi merely chuckles; of course Data wouldn’t understand. 

He smacks Taurik’s ass, one round cheek jiggling under the force, and sighs, “This one’s skilled enough too.” There’s a small spike in Taurik’s pulse: silently reveling in the approval. Otherwise, he continues bouncing up and down, fucking himself on his senior officer’s cock like a good boy. He must want next week’s promotion more than he lets on. Perhaps if he’s this determined with Picard, he’ll get it. 

For now, he’s all Geordi’s, and he fucks himself hard until Data decides, “Geordi, would it be possible to use this opportunity to observe oral practices?”

Geordi, grinning, pats Taurik’s ass again. Taurik obediently climbs off and sprawls out to work, professional enough to make any Vulcan proud.


	4. Riker/Wesley (MU, D/S)

Wesley leaps from the floor the second he hears the doors open, the PADD flying from his hands and clattering somewhere off to the side. Learning pales in comparison to being _touched_ , and he rushes to his master with open arms. 

Will scoops him up in bigger ones, and even as the doors slam closed behind them, Will is littering Wesley’s face in kisses. These double shifts are _torture_ ; it puts them apart for so long, and Wesley _hates_ being trapped in these quarters alone. He whines under the assault and murmurs, “I’m so glad you’re back... I’ve been so _bored_.”

Will just scoffs and chuckles, “It’s your own fault. You know yeomen aren’t meant to be sniffing around Engineering.” But he knows Wesley’s like that, is so _smart_ for a junior officer, craves experience and education, and Wesley knows he doesn’t mind. The captain, however, minds very much, and so Wesley’s been grounded, banished to the depths of these rooms for the next few weeks. Sometimes it seems unbearable, until Will comes back and picks him up, like what happens now.

Strong arms wrap around Wesley’s small waist, and he’s hiked into the air—he clutches to Will’s shoulders in delight and lets himself be carried backwards, taken into the large room at the back. He’s deposited just before the large bed, and he’s divested of his clothes—Will pulls the huge, oversized sweater over Wesley’s head—a remnant of Will’s old clothes that Wesley likes to wear for the smell and the warmth. His shorts are pushed down, and Will picks him up again, turning him and throwing him onto the bed. Wesley hits it face first, chest-down, and he pushes his ass in the air even as Will climbs over him, making no mistake about what he wants. 

“I’m sorry,” Wesley moans, as Will lies down over him, casting Wesley in shadow and body heat. Will grabs his ass and kneads it, forcing Wesley to gasp and croon until one finger presses between his cheeks, stabbing at his hole. Wesley twitches himself open, licks his lips and murmurs, “I’ll be good next time, I promise...”

“You’re never good, you little brat,” Will chuckles, through really, Wesley’s well behaved in most other areas. He can’t help his budding intelligence, his youthful curiosity—but he _tries_ to be good for his commander, he really does. Will shoves a long finger into him and notes in clear approval, “Or maybe I’m wrong—feels like you prepared for me. Is that how you spend your time, now? Fucking yourself on your own wet fingers in the hopes I’ll take you when I get back...?” Wesley nods vigorously. He cleaned the quarters and he made dinner and he ran a theoretical scan on the warp nacelles with a slightly different transwarp equation, but mostly he just touched himself and thought of _Will_.

Will’s finger recedes. It’s replaced with the blunt head of his cock, and Wesley whimpers and squirms, too overwhelmed with joy to contain himself. If he were as precocious as everyone seems to think him, he’d slam his ass right back onto his master’s cock, but he knows better, and he’s more obedient, and he waits until Will slams down, pounding into him in one quick, hard thrust that makes him _scream_. His toes curl and his fingers fist in the mattress, a puddle of drool already forming where his mouth lies. Will bites into his shoulder and mars his young skin and kisses his cheek, growling fiercely in his ear, “ _Good boy._ ” 

Wesley’s in a filthy heaven. Will proceeds to fuck Wesley utterly senseless, and if Will would just do this to him all day, he’d never even think about Engineering again.


	5. Worf/Troi (oral)

Fresh from the shower, Deanna’s just slipped into her uniform when the door chimes: one of the short, mini-dresses optional to crew members that prefer it over pants. She tugs it down over her thighs—it is _very_ short, particularly when she’s still slightly wet and it’s clinging to her skin—and calls, “Come in.” Straightening to stare at the mirror mounted on her wall, Deanna sets to finger-combing her dark curls over her shoulder. Her shift isn’t for another few hours, but she was hoping to catch her man before they both go back on duty. 

When that man appears in her mirror, stalking across her quarters like a wild animal, she isn’t particularly surprised to see him sweating and snarling; Worf starts too many days with holodeck training. The wave of power and adrenaline rolls towards her in a storm, and Deanna gasps when the full wave hits her—she falls forward and clutches at her dresser. The surge of _lust_ infused in his aura is too much to bear, but he gives her no time to adjust to it. Deanna’s still trying to close her mind when his hand reaches for hers, and he tugs her backwards so hard that she stumbles. His powerful arm loops around her waist just in time to stop her falling, but he might as well have not bothered; he throws her to the floor in the next second, clutching her close to cradle her fall. Her ass hits the carpet and her arms reel back, elbows catching her. She gets out a startled, “Worf—” but cuts off in a cry.

Worf, snarling like the beast he is, is already shoving up the hem of her skirt, the flimsy, too thin fabric relenting under his giant fingers. He rolls it straight up her hips and jerks her forward by one ankle—Deana slides across the floor, legs already parting on instinct. He takes one look at her panties and rips them aside with both sets of claws—it tears to pieces of pink and white lace that he throws aside. He goes through too many. She mumbles, “ _Worf_ ,” again, because if he wants to fuck her, she needs more time than that. His cock’s too big to take without her warm and wet for him, and as it is, her folds have only just begun to quiver. 

But he doesn’t climb up her body like usual, doesn’t smash his mouth against hers. Instead, he dives between her legs, his ponytail nearly flying out behind him, and Deanna’s head tosses back at the coldness of his sharp teeth along the skin of her inner thigh. He licks her with his massive, textured tongue, leaving a sticky trail of saliva right up to her pussy, and Deanna shrieks the second he reaches her lips. His tongue laps over them without a second thought, and it’s all Deanna can do not to throw her legs around his shoulders and crush him against her. 

He does that well enough on his own. He reeks of sweat and raw _man_ : the intoxicating, musky scent of a Klingon pushed to their limits. The sheer _desire_ that rolls off him nearly overcomes her; her pleasure’s spiking as much from his own as the stimulation. She doesn’t even have the wherewithal to ask what brought this on, but it doesn’t matter—Worf can work himself up too much on the holodeck, up to the kind of brutal sex that leaves her bruised and unable to walk straight for days. Thank goodness for Beverly’s discreteness. But today he isn’t conquering her with his mammoth cock; he buries his face in her crotch and licks at her pussy like giving head is his true calling. For a Klingon, Worf is surprisingly generous. Especially in the bedroom. 

He spares her no expense, and through his open mind, she knows, can’t help but know, that he’s enjoying this—enjoying the way she arches, the sound of her gasp, the taste of her juices in his mouth. When he shoves his tongue harshly inside her, she has no choice but to open for him; the pressure demands it, and she’s dripping as much from her own body as his. Worf makes a pleased smile, and when she glances down, she can see the satisfaction in his eyes, even if his mouth isn’t fully in view. His hands wrap around her body and cling to her thighs, holding her in place while he flattens into the floor and _devours_ her, more vigorously than any man she’s ever even dreamed about. Worf drives his tongue into her again and again, fucking her into oblivion. 

Deanna moans in ecstasy and forces her arms to move—it’s hard to make her body respond with how wildly _wonderful_ it feels and how dizzy her mind is with his lust—and she grabs his brushed back hair, coarse and matted. She tries to tug him off, and he snarls and must understand—his tongue jams against her clit and she screams. Her body arches off the floor and her thighs spread wider in his grip, wanting to draw him in, and he listens, listens so well—her hands aren’t strong enough to guide him, but it doesn’t matter. He does just what she wants and laps away at her clit while his lips suck around the edges of her, his teeth scraping her just enough to make her twitch with need. As always, it’s worth losing another pair of panties. Par for the course with a monster like Worf for a boyfriend. She almost begs for his cock, but she knows she won’t last—he’s doing fine with his tongue. She tries to push her pleasure back at him, but doesn’t know if she can penetrate his thick skull like this. She whines a languid, “Worf, _yesss_...” And he growls against her pussy, the vibrations making her nearly convulse. 

Her hips are twitching of their own accord. She tries to stop herself, but before long, she’s humping his face almost violently, unable to control them. Worf merely forces her still and fucks her harder, tongue warm and wet and bumpy and _amazing_ inside her. He uses his whole mouth to eat her out, and the sick noises he makes have her ears ready to burst, eyes rolling back in her skull. Her head grinds back against the carpet, skin beading with sweat, and she’s not going to last very long, even though she wants this to go on forever—now that she knows he can do this so well, she never wants him to stop, wants him to lick her and kiss her and suck her all day long, then come back tomorrow and get on his knees and do it again, but the pleasure’s too much, and her stomach’s starting to clench, skin so flushed hot that she thinks she might pass out. 

She screams instead, _screams_ at the top of her lungs, ripping out of his grasp to thrust up into his face, grinding against his eager mouth while her whole body uncoils, climax toppling onto his tongue. She writhes in pleasure and is sure she’ll pass out, but she still doesn’t want him to stop—she keeps her grip in his hair and tries to keep him down, but then she’s twitching and falling, slumping back against the floor, and he slips out of her grasp. 

Making a deep growling noise in the back of his throat, just like he always does when he’s feeling particularly possessive, Worf licks one last hard, broad trail up her whole pussy. She just barely manages to keep her eyes open, just enough to see the ravenous look on his face. She’s panting so hard that when her breasts rise, they block most of his face. 

She wants to ask if he wants her to return the favour, but she doesn’t have the ability, not right now. He doesn’t seem to mind. He climbs up her body, smirking beautifully, and nips at her cheek, having learned by now not to pierce the skin. Deanna lets her head be pushed aside and lazily strokes his back, trying to communicate how pleased she is with this new skill. 

Then he wraps her legs around him, his hardened cock nearly bursting out of the tent in his pants, and she knows they’re settling in for round two. She should probably be terrified. 

But she’s drowning in adoration, and she spreads her legs for him, knowing he’ll make her come again just as hard.


	6. Riker/Wesley (voy)

William hand-delivers the message just for the excuse to take a stroll, and the crisp holodeck air is a pleasant reward for that. The fields Wesley’s created seem to stretch in all directions, only a few trees marring the spotless horizon. A small pond lies in the middle, and William strolls casually towards it without even thinking, spotting the pink arch of Wesley’s back. 

William’s taken two steps forward when Wesley plunges his upper body down into the water. He pulls back a few seconds later, shaking the water out of his brown hair. It flies amongst the too-tall grass, and he drops something silver and shiny next to himself before diving back in, probably to fish out more of whatever he’s collecting. His legs stay in the lush grass, but the greenery covers his young skin, at least until William looks down. 

Only two more steps away, William freezes, his mouth falling open. Head still dunked underwater, Wesley probably can’t hear him, and Wesley goes on searching the depths of the clear pool, while that few seconds stretches into a painful eternity that leaves William reeling. 

Wesley’s skinny-dipping: naked from head to toe. Bent over the water, his round ass seems to protrude into the air, ripe cheeks glimmering in the warm sun. Water droplets litter his skin and slip down his crack as he flexes, sliding along the pink-brown crevice. Then Wesley shifts his leg, spreading his thighs wider, bracing himself against the bank, and it spreads his cheeks for William to stare at. Wesley’s ass arcs higher, lifted off the grass, and it allows his small, tight balls to show, pink and hairless and so delectable that William’s throat goes dry. Wesley’s small cock is just barely visible beneath them, arched against the earth and framed in dewy blades of flattened grass. His hole twitches when his ass cheeks flex, and the movement draws William’s eyes, his pants suddenly constricting; Wesley’s puckered hole looks so tight and hot and inviting that it’s all William can do not to drop to his knees and lavish it with his tongue. 

He just barely manages to hold himself back, repeating in his head over and over that Wesley’s _way, way_ too young, legal, yes, but still _too young_ , still alight with innocence and untouched beauty. 

...And William wants to shove that naivety into the ground and pound it away, debauch the little ensign into a quivering mess that can barely walk straight. The mounds of Wesley’s ass practically call for his hands, and William briefly entertains far too vivid daydreams of spanking Wesley raw. 

Then Wesley pushes out of the water again, shakes his head, and sucks in a full breath that makes his whole body shiver. He sits against the grass with his ass stuck out, and then he turns to drop another marble-sized rock into the rest of his collection. William doesn’t bother asking what the hell Wesley’s doing.

Wesley catches William in his peripherals, whirls around, and topples into the water in his haste, gasping while the splash covers his nakedness. William lets out a breath he didn’t know he was holding. When Wesley pokes out of the surface, his silky hair’s plastered to his face, and his cheeks are bright red. 

William, thick-tongued, somehow manages to grunt, “Ensign Carter’s sick. Report for bridge duty as soon as you’re cleaned up.” He means to turn around and march away, but instead he stays and stares, unable to get Wesley’s pert ass out of his head. ...He wonders vaguely if he’ll ever be able to.

Wesley mumbles a feeble, “Yes, sir.”

William suppresses a shudder of lust and adds, sterner, “And don’t skinny-dip when you don’t have the clearance to lock your programs.” Wesley nods, blushing furiously. He sinks lower into the water so only his eyes are over the brim. 

William shakes his head and storms away before his wholly inappropriate problem becomes any more obvious.


	7. Okona/Wesley (rim)

He doesn’t usually go for men, doesn’t usually go for _boys_ , but there’s just something in the way Wesley looks at him—such gushing _adoration_ —that Okona can’t ignore. He’s used to seducing his way into women’s bedrooms, but Wesley’s the one that simpers and coos and practically begs Okona to fuck him with every rapid breath, every sideways glance, every subtle touch. The poor kid’s probably too young to know what’s he doing—legal but inexperienced—but Okona’s no saint, and he can’t resist. 

He finds himself in the back of Wesley’s quarters, tucked behind the wall that separates Wesley’s bedroom from his mother’s, and Okona’s got him on the bed in record time. Wesley actually has the gal to look surprised when their mouths first connect, when Okona pushes him to the mattress and tries to _devour_ him whole, but the shock quickly gives way to a needy whimpering and small hands clinging to Okona’s vest. Okona shrugs it off with practiced skill and has his hands on the hem of Wesley’s overlarge sweater in an instant, has it gone a second later. Wesley barely has time to react to being stripped before Okona’s turning him around, shoving him face-first into the pillow. Wesley moans and clutches to it for dear life, burying his red cheeks away from view. 

It’s a different set of cheeks Okona’s interested in. It’s too easy to rearrange Wesley’s slight frame in the sheets, line him up lengthwise and push his creamy thighs apart. His grey uniform comes down his shaking hips tantalizingly slowly, revealing smooth centimeter after centimeter. Wesley turns his head to the side, and though his eyes are dilated and his lids are down and his wet lips are open around a whimper, it looks like he might protest. Then he simply bites off in a groan and shoves his hips into the air too wantonly for words, hiding his flushed face again. 

Okona chuckles and light swats his young rear, teasing, “Down boy.”

As though used to being used by men twice his age, Wesley utters an automatic, “Yes, sir.” Okona’s certainly not a _sir_ , but the address is too hot to scold Wesley over. The rush of authority runs through him—usually, when he makes love, it’s even. But with Wesley... Okona has _all_ the control, and that certainly isn’t something he minds. 

He knows he could fuck Wesley into the sheets right now, so hard that the bed would creak and Wesley wouldn’t be able to sit on the bridge for a month. But the more Okona looks at Wesley’s taut rear, the more he knows his thick cock would probably tear Wesley’s tiny hole asunder, and as horny as he is, he’s not in the habit of breaking boys. So he spits on Wesley’s ass instead, enjoying the way Wesley’s hips shudder as the wet gob slips between his cheeks. 

Okona straddles Wesley’s bare thighs and grabs two fistfuls of his ass, unable to resist squeezing hard. Wesley gasps and arches up into it, warm flesh pressing against Okona’s palms. Okona squeezes harder and digs his thumbs into Wesley’s crack, prying it open—pink and utterly hairless, Wesley’s tidy trail looks pristine, like it’s never been used. Okona gets a sick satisfaction out of imaging himself to be the first to plunder this new land, but he doesn’t ask if Wesley’s a virgin; he knows youths are prone to lying about that sort of thing. 

Although, Wesley does seem too pure for falsehoods. His tight balls and small shaft twitch as Okona kneads his cheeks, pulling Wesley’s ass high enough off the mattress to let his cock dangle freely between his legs. It’s already hard, stiffening more the more Okona plays with him. Okona spits down Wesley’s crack again and watches it drizzle into to Wesley’s pink-brown furrowed hole, so tiny that Okona’s not sure he’d be able to get more than one finger inside. His saliva slicks around the edges and makes it glisten, and when Okona leans down to blow over it, it twitches in time with Wesley’s whines. 

Okona glances up and smirks at what he sees; Wesley’s clinging to the pillow for dear life and looking back at Okona through hazy eyes and thick embarrassment, all too cute. If Wesley were a bit older and Okona were a bit better at sticking to one flavour, he’d invite the kid along for his next ride. ...But he has no intention of kidnapping another man’s toy—he’d be a fool not to see the way Riker looked at Wesley—and he takes his fill now. 

He pulls Wesley’s ass higher into the air and dives his face into it, tongue stabbing out to lave over Wesley’s balls. Wesley _screams_ , hips writhing in Okona’s hands, but Okona holds him firm. Okona holds his cheeks open. Okona licks up Wesley’s taint and covers Wesley’s puckered entranced in spit, lapping at it over and over, delighting in the way it convulses under his touch. Wesley’s body is shaking so violently that it’s probably beyond Wesley’s control. Okona can handle it. He stabs his tongue at Wesley’s hole until it relinquishes for him, and he presses on it harder and harder, sinking deeper and deeper. The bitter taste of human skin is a welcome, familiar sensation around his lips. He curls his tongue to make it easier to push inside and shoves the tip past all of Wesley’s restraints, until he’s inside Wesley’s body enough to lick around. The pressure of Wesley’s ass is exquisite, brim fluctuating around him and walls trying to squeeze him deeper. Okona pushes as far as he can and sucks at the edges, making Wesley cry out and buck up into him. Okona holds him steady and squeezes his ass for punishment, mouth too busy for verbal scolding.

In the edge of Okona’s vision, Wesley licks his pretty lips and murmurs, “S-sorry, sir,” but does it again a second later. Okona pays it no mind and pulls his tongue half out, only to thrust back inside a second later. Wesley gasps, and Okona repeats it, again and again, fucking Wesley’s tight ass with too much vigor. The poor kid is squirming and howling, and Okona just tongue-fucks him harder, trying not to imagine what it would feel like to have his cock in this tight heaven or down that active throat. Wesley probably wouldn’t be able to take more than a third of him without choking, but it might be worth it just to _feel_ all those screams. Okona shifts one of his hands up to grip Wesley’s hip, and the other runs along Wesley’s front to feel his swinging cock, small but rock hard. 

Okona squeezes it, and Wesley tosses his head back wildly, unable to scream any louder. It’s a good thing his mother’s not around, because they can probably hear Wesley across the hall. 

Okona shoves him down into the mattress for no particular reason and pins him there, cradling his flattened cock and devouring his ass. Wesley struggles but gets nowhere, and Okona scrapes dull teeth along his trail and tongue-fucks him hard and roughly jerks on his dick. Poor Wesley is a mess, and Okona can feel the small balls against his chin tightening shamefully fast. Wesley’s screams turn higher pitched and his thighs start scraping at the mattress, but Okona just keeps on going, determined to memorize this sweet young ass for the next time he’s out in space on a dry spell. 

When Wesley comes, he screams himself hoarse, and Okona can actually hear the exact moment Wesley’s voice leaves him. His entire body convulses, and Okona eats him out right through it, gnawing at him like a feast. Wesley’s cock spasms in Okona’s hand and spills all over it, and Okona’s kind enough to pump it out, even though he doesn’t let Wesley’s poor hips lift even a millimeter to accommodate it. He doesn’t stop until Wesley’s spent every last drop in his body and stopped shaking in favour of trembling, writhing slowly and rasping out whimpers. 

Only then does Okona retract his tongue, taking a final swipe on the way out of the sweat trickling down Wesley’s crack. His creamy cheeks are stained a dark pink where Okona held them, and when Okona lets go, they nicely spring back into place. Okona slaps that ass once just for amusement: he hasn’t had a rear that buoyant in a long time. 

Because Wesley’s clearly too wrecked to say anything, Okona leads the way again. He stretches out, smirking in satisfaction himself, and shifts over so he can lie down beside his prey, head hitting the corner of the pillow that Wesley isn’t drooling into. Wesley looks at him in utter awe, and Okona’s smile grows. Just to hear it aloud, Okona asks, “Good?”

Wesley takes a moment to pant, “You’re _amazing_.” 

Okona laughs. He doesn’t miss the way Wesley’s eyes follow the movement when he drops one hand to his crotch, massaging his engorged cock through the fabric. “And you haven’t even got any real action yet.” Okona winks, and Wesley, somehow, turns miraculously redder. 

He takes a moment to breathe, then mumbles, “Can I?” And Okona’s too good a sport not to chuckle and start to push his pants down.


End file.
